Queer Eye for Sanity and a Dash of Hope

Queer Eye (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How ironic it is that I am watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy these days.  Thanks to the wonders of Netflix, I can watch the archived episodes of many cancelled cable shows that I never got to see in their prime.  If you never saw this "reality" makeover show it's basically five design gurus helping clueless heterosexual men become more stylish.  They makeover their wardrobe, home decor, grooming, culinary, and entertainment choices and leave the straight men in a cloud of fabulous fairy dust.  From the perch of their Manhattan loft, the Fab Five watch as cameras reveal how the men incorporate their new skills, appearance, wardrobe, and gorgeous home into their normal life with their friends and loved ones. 

As a child I was a tomboy and a mess most of the time.  In adulthood not much has changed.  There is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of conditioner in our shower, family photographs is my only design theme, and though I enjoy baking, meals are pretty uninspired.  After every episode, I say out loud, "I want the Fab Five to come to our house!"  Mostly, I want them to come because they really do have an "eye".  Every single time they manage to take a dump of  house and transform it into a vision of awesomeness.  The guys that they makeover, almost always say,"I didn't know how to make this place (or myself) look good but if I did, it would have looked like this."  They are overwhelmed at how much their own preferences and lifestyle and personality are actually reflected in the space.  That's all I want.  Five, funny, creative guys with a seemingly unlimited spending account, to "get me" and show me what my style really is.  Is that too much to ask?

Evidently so.  In the real world, as I'm dreaming about chic, New York, style gods, my kitchen ceiling is spraying water all over the floor.  Over my morning coffee, I heard the clear sound of a shower.  Why would I hear the shower?  My husband never showers with the door open.  I get up and go to the kitchen.  Oh, of course, I hear a shower of water because I now mysteriously have one in my kitchen.  Too bad I don't have my soap and shampoo with me.  Eating breakfast while showering could shave so much time off my morning routine. What would the Fab Five from Queer Eye do in this situation?  Cry? Run screaming? No.  They would probably crack jokes about taking a group shower and then pop a bottle of champagne.

That is why I am completely hooked on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. In the midst of a very real life, watching someone's impossibly picture perfect transformation brings me some hope.  As I look up at the gaping hole in my ceiling I decide that one more episode is just what I need.

Turning Point - Give Me Twenty

I know that I tend to turn most of these reflections towards the positive or to search out some type of personal learning.  I don't do that because everything is happy all the time but more as a way to practice looking for the good.  I'm not able to manage it most of the time but in my writing, I can.  There was a time in my family when I found it very hard to be upbeat.  My youngest son seemed to be angry and combative all the time, he fought with his brother every waking moment, called him terrible names, and I thought that maybe some type of intervention was going to be necessary.

Where was all the anger coming from?  How could I tell if he was going through a phase or showing some early signs of serious struggles?   My best friend gave me a piece of very sage advice.  She pointed out to me that my son wasn't acting the same all the time.  When we visited with friends for example, he didn't fight with them or call their children names.  He did have the ability to control himself and censure his behavior at times.  It helped calm my mind but I still didn't have a solution.  Our biggest response had been natural consequences, usually a withdrawal of some type of privilege that was linked to the offensive activity.  If he trashed his brother's room then he would have to clean it or do his brother's chores for several days.  Mostly though, his consequence was taking away TV time or time with his friend.  A favorite message in those days was, "You don't get to be rewarded with hanging out with your friend if you treat your family like crap."

an exercise of chest (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is also the son who could spend hours in repetitive labor (sanding, heavy lifting, gardening).  There were moments when I felt like I couldn't listen to his negativity or anger one more second and yet if he had a job, that he deemed important, he could be focused and helpful.  Over time I realized that when he was most agitated and most deserving of a drop kick, was the exact time that I needed to give him a job. I met with several teachers back then, suggesting that as counter intuitive as it might seem from his actions, more responsibility in the classroom, not less, would help his classroom behavior.  As much as he liked to feel responsible, he also liked to feel strong.  As he was repetitively harassing  his brother, I would shout from the other room, "O.K., you've got too much energy for me right now.  Give me twenty!"  He would drop to the ground and do push ups.  To my surprise, he never fought me on my boot camp inspired demands.  As miserable as we all felt around him in those years, he felt just as bad.  He wanted a solution to his out of control behavior as much as we did.

In the midst of the worst of his negative, argumentative behavior, I asked him to join me as my workout buddy at the gym.  I had to lie to the YMCA about his age so that he could be permitted to use the equipment but it was worth it.  About 6 months after our gym routine had begun I looked at him and didn't see the anger.  "Do you feel different?   You don't seem as upset or on edge as you used to.  Have you noticed a change?"  I asked him.  He shrugged his shoulders and gave an understated, "Yea, maybe."

His intense attitude may have subsided all on its own just by getting older and allowing all the initial prepubescent stuff to settle down.  Maybe it was the physical exercise.  Maybe it was the two boys being separated and going to different schools.  Maybe it was just the realization that we weren't in a battle with our son as much as we were wrestling with his out of control feelings and behavior.  Maybe it was just a super lucky alignment of the stars and all of the things I just listed melding at the right moment.  So here is my reflection that I'm trying to remember for other things in my life:

1. When you are in the middle of a struggle it can be hard to see a solution.  Don't give up.
2. Being honest about the hard parts of our lives/parenting is so much easier than pretending that things    are "fine" and it's a lot less lonely.
3. When agitated, frustrated, antsy, or full out angry, push ups might help and definitely won't hurt.

Good luck with whatever your latest struggle is.  We all have them so you are in good company.

Flashing Before My Eyes

Stop Sign (Photo credit: ladybeames)

So in a very recent post, Time Flies, I commented about helping the new driver in my family log his supervised driving hours for his permit.  Since that time there have been two 30 minute sessions and both times I've had my life flash before my eyes.  The flashes are brief and both he and I return to calm quickly.  The experience reminds me of the announcers at the big, televised, golf tournaments.  They keep their voice two notches above a whisper while giving the play by play of the game.  I'm trying to do the same.  "Turn right at the stop sign. Move out of the lane for oncoming traffic.  Move out of the other lane (slightly louder).  Not that far, pull left (panicked voice). Stop! (still moving)! Stop! (still moving)!  Stop the #$%&! car!"  Car stops. 

We are learning how to communicate our wishes in a very direct way.

I am learning how to move quickly from frustration to praise.

He is learning to listen.

The hardest part of the lessons so far are the handful of moments when he seems to be heading straight towards another car.  It is hard to remain calm and communicate clearly when a hallucinatory bill from an auto body shop keeps blinding my vision.  I take a deep breath.  He takes a deep breath.  "OK. When I say stop.  Stop.  Immediately.  Let's go around again.  Move forward. Turn right at the stop sign.  Good, much smoother."  Flashing on my imminent death or not, we move forward.  We will keep practicing and keep talking and learning.  (A great metaphor that I won't force on you here.)

It's A Small World

My son is taking driver's ed right now so I am more aware of my own driving habits.  I'm also keenly aware of how many jerks are on the road.  This morning I noticed myself sliding through a stop sign (on a vacant side street) and twinged, knowing that my son was watching me.  Later, I waited to turn left as a group of 30 students finished crossing the street.  I was surprised when a car honked at me, urging me to move, even though the large group of students was clearly visible.  I was stunned when the same driver passed me, driving in the lanes for oncoming traffic and then inched their SUV within a foot of the student pedestrians.  I was outraged as I watched this impatient, rude, and unsafe PARENT drop of her own student in front of the school.

Globe (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I watched a TV sitcom once which played out a very funny version of this story.  The driver does some impossibly obnoxious and insane thing from behind the wheel, gets honked at by the other driver, and then proceeds to flip off the offended party.  In TV land, the uber nasty driver goes to the parent-teacher conference or the job interview or whatever, to of course face the very individual whom they have just presented the "bird".  I frequently keep that little image in my head.  What if the person who I'm so annoyed with, was my neighbor?  My son's English teacher?  A coworker?  What if I had to face this person later in the day in a conversation or ask for their help on a project? 

Would you behave differently if you were going to have to answer for your behavior or words later in the day?  Alone in our cars or behind our computer screens we can forget about common decency, patience, civility, or empathy.  Interacting with clerks at the store or receptionists at the doctor's office it's the same thing.  Would you offer more respect and courtesy if you knew you were looking at the mom of  your child's new best friend?  We can be lured into thinking that it's all about us and our needs, our schedule, our emergencies.  It's not.  The parent that honked and then cut me off and sped ahead within inches of the student crosswalk, arrived in front of the school exactly 5 seconds ahead of me.  In those 5 seconds, she managed to scare and upset another driver, intimidate 30 students, and educate her child about how little other people are to be considered or respected.  Her world was very small indeed, it consisted of exactly one person.

I'm looking forward to my son's driving education.  It will be stressful for sure.  I also know that  it's going to help me refocus on what's important and require me to practice what I'm preaching to him.  Common decency, patience, civility, and empathy are all qualities that I need more of and that I want to offer to others - including the mystery driver who cut me off.

Day Camp (registration) Drama

Summer camp final celebration. Donostia. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today is the day that online registration for summer day camps opens.  Specifically, 9am.  Last night I finalized my wishlist (first, second, third, and "Hail Mary pass" choices).  I updated my husband's account and complemented his wishlist with mine.  I've arranged my work schedule so that the first 15 minutes of the day are free and clear.  At 8:50am, I will load up the park district site, pull out my credit card, and begin my prayers of supplication. In other years when I was attempting to register two children in various programs, I also enlisted a supportive friend in pursuit of a supervised summer.

Now, to be clear, we don't have to go through this online rush. You can register in person as well.  A couple of years, I enrolled the boys in a nature camp through the park district that only used in person registration.  It was to start at 9am.  I felt silly and a little high strung when I woke up early on a Saturday to be one of the first in line and arrive at 7am.  As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that all the spots were full.  Looking up, I spotted the line of lawn chairs and parents wrapped in blankets sipping thermoses of "coffee".  It turned out that the first 20-30 people had actually arrived by 5am.  I frequently am in this position, where what feels extreme for me ends up being somewhere in the middle ground by other people's standards.

In lieu of  lawn chairs and camping out in the elements for a day camp slot, my husband and I  tackled the online system yet again.  We split the list of options since the gymnastics program that our son wanted to get into was broken down into 4 separate camps of two weeks each, hoping that he'd at least get some if not all of the offerings if we were on different computers and logging in separately.  It worked!  He's in the activities that he wanted and we have one more summer of at least semi-supervised fun for him.

Two thoughts came to me as I was waiting the 45 minutes for the computer to unfreeze (the site had a warning sign that a slow down would occur and if I budged from my seat, refreshed the browser, or logged out I would lose my queue in line).  The first thought, as I passed the time by working at my desk on other projects and compulsively looking up at the monitor was, "I'm really lucky that I am able to do this". How many parents went to work this morning as a laborer or saleswoman or nurse and couldn't take the time to watch for the clock to strike 9am and then obsessively stare at a crashed website?  I'm guessing that there is some strange disproportionate mix of children whose parents are office workers or unemployed who are making it into these summer programs. But then, if you're unemployed, you probably aren't prioritizing summer camp in your budget so it may very well just be a program for office workers' children. 

Anyway, my second thought was, "We do crazy things for our kids don't we?"  This morning was definitely in the category of,  Things I Do For Love or Things I Do To Keep My Sanity.  It's a hard call, giving my son a physical outlet this summer is as much about loving him as it is about my own mental health.  I probably would have even gotten up at the crack of dawn if I hadn't succeeded in the online system.  Sometimes we just know that doing a little bit of crazy is going to make all of the difference.  Today I'm grateful for the crazy things I do for my kids and the good fortune to be able to do them. 

What's the crazy that you're grateful for?

The Project

Image via Wikipedia

I sit here typing with the telltale signs of my least favorite part of parenting displayed all around me.  The dining room table (and floor) is a mess of books, paper scraps, and colored construction paper.  One large display board sets it all off, mocking me from it's perch in the living room.  Tomorrow is the deadline for my seventh grader's history fair project.  It used to be that we just had to deal with science fair (which I loath even more than history fair).  Now the stress and anxiety come twice a year. 

Tonight is the night.  There is usually some last minute drama, often related to a small logistical detail to which I never paid any attention.  "On the third paragraph of the summary statement, underline all the words that relate back to your hypothesis.  Make sure that all photographs are labeled in italics and placed in the left corner of the display board."  I'm of course being fictitious.  It's not that hard for me to understand the details of their teacher's requests.  My problem is me.

It's very important to me that my kids learn how to be responsible and be able to handle themselves, take care of the stuff that is their business.  I don't hover.  I ask if their homework is done and when I'm able, I answer questions.  That's pretty much what I offer.  When they were in second and third and maybe even fourth grade, I would offer to help type up their essays for school.  Mostly because I wanted to use the computer before the next month had passed and their own typing was so slow it verged on torture.

So, during science and history fair preparation my values butt up against my sanity.  Do I correct all the typos, grammar mistakes, weird phrasing, and undocumented facts or do I encourage them to check their work again and let the quality of their own effort be reflected in their grade?  Do I let them struggle with the typing and the making of charts when it would take me half the time?  I know that other parents are probably going to help out (does a 7 yr old really know how to run those color graphs with the attached video feed?).  Am I really just putting my kids in an unfair situation - being compared to students who have a design team from their parents pr firm offering support?  As is the case with so many of my dilemmas, they are rooted in my real values vs. my own adult fears of judgement.  I don't want them to turn in a project that isn't really theirs but I also hate the idea of their tilted, glue smudged display standing next to the matted, black and white photographed project, all printed on archival quality paperstock.

In the end, I am going to do what I've done the last seven years.  Tonight, I will brace myself.  I will be calm and wipe away any tears of frustration that may come.  I will model deep breathing and patience.  I will affirm and encourage.  And maybe, just maybe, quietly suggest that the summaries should be glued neatly onto the board instead of the "pin the tale on the donkey/willy-nilly" alignment that is my son's preferred method.  He will turn it in, even though I know that I would do it differently.  He will get a grade that provides relief or frustration and that grade will be all his.